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abandoned."
Antonovitch watched the eyes of his officers. There was admiration there. The godhood thing. He shrugged it away. His hand moved to the third objective. "Here, at the Second Chinese City, totally different tactics will be employed," Antonovitch hoped, because all his plans for the Chinese objective rested on the successful on-site reconnaissance of the
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Second Chinese City by Prokopiev's Elite Corps unit. "Here," he began again, "the Elite Corps will parachute in and attack the city from the ground, striking boldly — " he was improvising generalities as he proceeded "—to the heart of the Second City government, seizing control of communications, power and other facilities, demanding surrender." His hand drifted over the portion of Western Europe where, at one time, there had been the country of France. "On the return from Hekla community, our forces will strike at the small German installation in the area bordering the lands to where the Wild Tribes were relocated. Unlike my predecessor, I have no thirst for genocide." Some eyebrows were raised at his words, but he made no attempt to recant.
"The goal in attacking this secondary objective," Antonovitch continued quickly, "is to further disrupt German lines of command and supply. There will be no attempt to attack the areas where the Wild Tribes are living, nor will the pre-fabricated factories which have begun servicing their needs for food and shelter be attacked. If the German technicians care to continue their work after the installation and the runways are destroyed, so be it. The area is of a humanitarian nature and therefore not a fit military target for the people of the Soviet. This raid will be carried out quickly. Our troops will re-equip at the Underground City, then proceed at best speed to reinforce our personnel at the Second Chinese City and hold this position against the inevitable attack from the First Chinese City."
His eyes traveled over the room again. "The German units in Asia will be cut off and forced to
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surrender or die. The only serious German force will
be baseless outside its homeland. As conditions permit, once our new territories have been secured, the new German homeland in what was Argentina can be assaulted and destroyed should its masters fail to realize the inevitability of their fate and surrender. And the Rourkes, of course, will be without help. They will, inevitably, be captured and made to stand trial for their offenses, or killed. And, in the final analysis, the death of the Hero Marshal shall be forever avenged" And there would be peace, and the earth could once again flourish and, with control of the nuclear weapons the leadership of the Second Chinese City could lead him to, that peace would be enforceable.
He had read of the Pax Romana, the world peace achieved through military conquest. It was, in this case, the only way for the planet to step out of the dark ages of warfare into which, as the Americans had called it, the Night of the War had thrust mankind.
Whether this was the goal of the leadership of the Underground City or not mattered little to him. If their minds were like, then let them run this new world he would give them. If their goals were other than his, they would be powerless to stop him.
If he trusted anyone that thoroughly, he would have confided that the death of the Hero Marshal might one day be looked upon as one of the singularly greatest moments in human history, for Karamatsov would have destroyed the earth.
To rule among the ashes, to be master of the dead and dying, to know that in the end all would have
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been for nothing, seemed senseless, seemed mad to him.
"So, Comrades. What questions do you have? Because, Comrades, we strike-" and he consulted the Breitling watch at his left wrist" — we strike in fewer than twenty-four hours. And we shall forever alter the course of the future. Questions?"
There were none.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Chinese heavy cavalry were upon them before they realized, and before a radio transmission came in from Han Lu Chen and Otto Hammerschmidt.
With a radio headset provided to him by his ally Major Vassily Mikhailovitch Prokopiev, so resistance to the Maoist forces could be coordinated, Prokopiev had said in panicked sounding English, "They come!"
From his side of the gap, Michael had been unable to see, and the wind had risen, so as dark gray —so dark they were almost black —clouds had driven in from the west that he had been unable to hear.
"They're coming!" Michael rasped with a loud stage whisper, the Russian medical corpsman still on his side of the gap, attending the injured, most seriously wounded among them one of the Chinese enlisted men, the few survivors clustered around Michael Rourke as he waited for Prokopiev to open fire.
The Maoist cavalry was broken up into two distinct units, men dressed in the furs and astrakhan hats and informal body armor of the Mongol mercenaries, looking for all the world like something out of a Hollywood epic from centuries ago, "and (the larger element of the mounted force) men in faded pale red battle dress utilities, gray military looking parkas and baseball caps. Even the mounts of what Michael Rourke assumed to be regular army as opposed to mercenary, were less spectacular, all a dun brown or bay, not the
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gleaming blacks and speckled appaloosa-like mounts of the Mongols. Some of the Mongol horses, as opposed to the mounts of the regulars, were not the Pryzwalski-like animals so common here, but instead larger bodied, broad faced animals with powerful, sinewy necks and several hands taller as well, looking clearly to have Arabian lineage. Despite the natural independence of the breed, Michael Rourke felt these animals would be worth the challenge of a hard ride. He wondered if he would have the chance.
The buttstock of the M-16 was checked tight to his face, his right eye blinking periodically to keep from losing sight picture. He had taken aim on the evident commander of the force, a wizened-looking man of perhaps seventy, but tall, once a formidable figure, as Michael judged it. From the braid which adorned his baseball cap, Michale judged him at least a field grade officer if not higher. But it was the philosophy of the old cowboys and Indians movies he had watched as a boy at the Retreat. Shoot the chief and, while the enemy was disorganized, make your play.
He was ready to shoot the chief.
"That old man is a general, I think," Prokopiev's voice hissed in his ear through the headset.
"I've got him Vassily."
"No— we will need this man if there is to be any hope of forcing them back. Trust this."
"You and I apparently grew up on different movies. John Wayne would have shot the guy."
"John Wayne?"
"A great actor, and in his way an ambassador of American moral values and philosophy."
"I see. Do not shoot the old officer."
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"Fine —shut up, will ya, so I can shoot something?"
Michael Rourke took a last glance at the old man, then shifted his rifle to another target, a younger officer. Prokopiev was the professional military man, Michael Rourke told himself.
The. rattle of sabers, the clattering of sling swivels, the clopping of hooves was louder now than the wind.
Michael settled his sights easily over the younger officer's chest.
Like an evil angel on his shoulder, Vassily Prokopiev's voice came again. "On the count of three. One — " Michael Rourke suddenly asked himself why he was listening to this man at all. After all, Prokopiev had engineered the miserably failed ambush which had trapped him and the others here but achieved no military purpose. What was to imply that Prokopiev could do better now. "Two — " If it could be avoided, if they survived this, he would be just as content to leave Prokopiev to fight another day, and he would do all that was possible to ensure that. The duplicity he intended rankled him, but there was no other way for it. Where was Han? Where was Otto?
"Three—-now!"
Michael Rourke touched his finger to the M-16's trigger a micro-second after the first shot of the first burst began, and as the Maoist officer rocked back and tumbled from the back of his rat-like horse, others falling around him, bloodcurdling screams issuing from the Mongrol mercenaries, Michael Rourke almost said aloud, "So much for diplomacy."
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CHAPTER TWENTY
The struggle down the mountainside had been difficult, but most difficult on the women. Annie, of course, was in excellent physical condition, but Elaine Halversen's stamina could best be described as better than average, Paul thought, realizing that at times his thinking was becoming as clinical as that of a Rourke. He charted it off to propinquity and good fortune.
But, as the pilot of the J-7V had recounted and landing at the German installation outside Eden Base had confirmed, good fortune was something they all shared. Fresh from New Germany in Argentina, come to personally investigate the situation involving Kurinami and Halversen, was Colonel Wolfgang Mann, supreme military commander of New Germany, a man whom Paul Rubenstein at once trusted and deeply respected.
They were shown to quarters, Kurinami and Halversen asked if they would prefer to share quarters (they had preferred) and then a breakfast meeting was announced with Colonel Mann.
Paul showered with Annie, letting her massage the tenseness from his neck and back and upper arms, and, despite the precious little sleep they had been allowed, after they dried each other, they made slow, comfortable love, after which Annie had fallen asleep in his arms and he in hers.
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A quick shower and breakfast awaited them, Annie dressed in long skirt and lace trimmed blouse of Icelandic fashion. He had asked, when they had packed their gear for the expedition to the Retreat, why she had elected to waste precious ounces on things so seemingly patently unnecessary as a skirt and petticoat and a fancy blouse and she had told him simply, "If you were a woman, you'd understand. But I'm considering that you don't."
And he was convinced now, as he tasted the ground beef patties served so obviously instead of pork-based sausage (a German favorite, he had learned) in deference to his religion, that Annie could read his mind. Because his thoughts were consumed with her, he saw her watching him, smiling, almost blushing as he had recollected what they had done with each other's bodies early in the morning hours before they had slept.
He forced his attention to his food and the conversation around him, and just in time because Colonel Mann began to address him. "So, Herr Rubenstein. It is satisfactory? The food?"
"Yes —and thank you for your consideration, Colonel,"
"It is nothing, Herr Rubenstein. But you are gracious to notice it. And, I assure you, all is, to the best of our abilities here, how do you say it?"
"Kosher?" Paul smiled.
"Indeed," Mann smiled back.
Paul Rubenstein doubted the beef was exactly Kosher, but it would serve. "And Frau Rubenstein," Mann continued. "You are lovelier than ever. Marriage indeed must agree with you."
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"Thank you, Colonel Mann. And how is your lovely wife?"
"She is in excellent health and I am certain will be furious that an opportunity to meet with so many members of the Rourke family at once has been missed. But — " And he raised his hands, palms upward, in a gesture of resignation.
Mann looked at Elaine Halversen, who sat across the table from him. "Doctor Halversen. Although I know little beyond official reports of the nature of the difficulties which seem to beset you and Lieutenant Kurinami, I assure you that I will do all that is within my power that they be alleviated."
John Rourke spoke. "This is sensitive, Colonel. Do you wish the attendants to leave? I'm sure we can pour our own coffee and the ladies might be prevailed upon to help us if we get in trouble passing the eggs or the toast."
Paul Rubenstein watched as John's and Colonel Mann's eyes met. "Yes. A fine suggestion, Herr Doctor." And without looking at the enlisted personnel who had served the breakfast, he spoke a few words in German, dismissing them. He looked at John, saying, "More orange juice, Herr Doctor? Frozen from concentrate, the oranges grown in our own groves, as you know."
"Yes-"
"Here —let me," and Annie was already up before Paul could reach for her chair, taking the orange juice pitcher. "Elaine —help me with the coffee? Hmm?"
Elaine Halversen nodded, stood, Kurinami getting her chair, and she took one of the coffee pots off the
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table and began filling cups. The coffee was freshly ground and Paul Rubenstein had decided that he would drink it until he felt he would float.
"This sensitive matter, Herr Doctor?"
"Yes."
"Ladies —may I smoke?" Mann interjected.
Elaine merely nodded, Annie saying, "Certainly," and as Colonel Mann took out a cigarette, he offered them to John, John taking one. Annie snatched her father's lighter off the table from beside him and lit the cigarette for him. Times like this, Paul Rubenstein wished he had never quit,
"Thanks, sweetheart," John told Annie, then as he exhaled, he addressed Wolfgang Mann. "Colonel, I have reason to believe that there is a conspiracy, of which you are already aware, among supporters of the deposed Nazi leadership, to forcibly overthrow your current government under Deiter Bern. I have evidence to support that some such persons as were involved in this conspiracy were acting in complicity with Commander Christopher Dodd, the de facto leader of Eden Base. Their overall purpose is unclear, but I assume it has to do with utilizing Eden as a legitimate front for their revolutionary activities. Eight men —whom Paul and I dispatched with some assistance — were in the process of attacking the Retreat, my mountain home, in order to presumably kill Lieutenant Kurinami and his fiance, Doctor Halversen, who were my guests. They were, by all appearances, German, and they utilized a mixture of German and U.S. small arms, along with a German manufactured disposable rocket launcher which, though delivering an extremely powerful explosive
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device, I would assume is not currently inventoried." "The R-19 MK II?"
"Why? Are you missing some?" John Rourke smiled.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Well, consider sixteen of the missing articles accounted for, then"
"That leaves approximately four hundred and eighty remaining."
Paul Rubenstein began to cough, a piece of ground beef sticking in his throat. He washed it down with a quickly gulped swallow of orange juice. Wolfgang Mann laughed as he turned to look at him. "Indeed, Herr Rubenstein, it is a serious matter." Mann looked back to John Rourke. "Did you get any names?"
"The men involved, as I indicated, are no longer available for questioning. But Paul and I heard one of the men call another of them by the name 'Weil' and another called 'Horst'"
"The one was Hans Weil, the other I would need to consult intelligence files for. Hans Weil was once a German officer. He was also a Nazi. He was never found after the victory against the leader and Deiter Bern's taking charge of the government. At least, it appears, he is accounted for. He was SS."
"How many more are there like him?" Annie asked suddenly.
Wolfgang Mann looked at her as he tapped ashes from his cigarette, "Regrettably, Frau Rubenstein, several hundred that we know of. There may be hundreds of others who openly profess distaste for the old regime yet would support it were it to return. Na-
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tional Socialism dies hard. There are some who think it never dies." He looked at John Rourke. "And these men were attempting to penetrate your mountain Retreat in order to kill Doctor Halversen and Lieutenant Kurinami?"
"Yes, Colonel, At the order of Commander Dodd, most likely, with his complicity almost certainly. I am asking that Akiro and Elaine be given sanctuary here, regardless of Dodd's wishes or demands. Arrest them, if you like, on some charge or another so you can hold them in custody if diplomacy will best be served. But don't return them to Dodd. Otherwise, they'll be killed through some contrivance or another. I think we both know that."
"Why do you think I came, Herr Doctor? Because I enjoy this rather disappointing climate?"
John Rourke laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh. "I have your assurances, then?"
"Yes. And I would like to have your help, Herr Doctor. I must unearth the leaders of this conspiracy against the Fatherland, and I imagine you would be equally interested in bringing Commander Dodd to book."
"Before the discoveries I learned of at Mid-Wake, as I wrote you by dispatch and as Doctor Munchen's accounts have no doubt reinforced, I was firmly convinced that the best method for destroying a cancer was, if all else proved inadequate, excision. I have since learned of subtler methods; but it is, after all, the end result which is important."
Paul Rubenstein, at times, felt like John H. Watson, despite the fact that his weight was all wrong for the part.
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Annie poured him more coffee and smiled at him, her hand brushing against his, her Sherlockian father continuing to speak. "Michael, my son, has gone off to the Second Chinese City. Before attempting to solve this Dodd matter, if you'll indulge me, I'd like to get back to China. We still have a substantial lack of meaningful intelligence concerning Karamatsov's forces and who is running the show in his place, and I'd like to be nearby just in case Michael's embassy—"
"A peace mission, Herr Doctor? Yes —to the Second Chinese City. I recall it was to be undertaken. There is so much happening"
"Agreed. But Hartman is monitoring the movements of the Soviet army and the events at the 'Underground City. He's spread a bit thin. If something should go wrong with Michael's mission, I want to be close enough to act."
